“It’s not far, my Lady.” Giles led the way.
“It’ll be all right,” Jeremy said in a low voice as they followed Giles.
“I know.” She took his hand, aware that hers trembled ever so slightly. It was reassuring to feel that Jeremy’s grip was none too steady either.
There were clouds in the sky, and a cool gust of wind whipped at her skirts as they crossed the lawns and headed toward the woods. Now that summer was on their doorstep, the leaves were lush and green, creating darker caverns beneath the canopy. It was into this strange daytime twilight that the three of them walked, and within fifty yards, she spotted a couple of men standing silently over something on the ground.
A blanket covered the body, and she was grateful for those few final moments of preparation. Clasping Jeremy’s hand with a savage grip, she nodded to the men, two farmers she recognised as Wolfbridge tenants.
“Mr Jack, Mr Robert. Did you find him?”
They doffed their caps and gave her a brief bow.
“We did, m’Lady,” said Mr Jack. “We was comin’ along ‘ere lookin’ fer any broken branches. Them’s as might fall on persons walkin’ this way, like.”
“Found a few of ‘em, Ma’am. Pulled ‘em down. We’ll be lettin’ ‘em dry and then cuttin’ ‘em up fer firewood, yer see.” Mr Robert gestured behind him, and sure enough there was a small pile of broken branches, ready to have their leaves stripped.
Gwyneth nodded. “I see.” She looked at Giles.
“Let’s look at him, then, lads.”
Mr Robert leaned down and carefully drew the old blanket away.
Gwyneth swallowed. The man lay face down, his head bloody and battered. But the rest of him seemed to be in one piece—clearly the attack to his head had been violent and fatal.
“You didn’t hear a shot or anything suspicious?” She looked at the two farmers.
“Nay, Ma’am. We ain’t ‘eard nothin’.”
Giles knelt beside the man. “They wouldn’t have,” he remarked.
“Why?” Jeremy released Gwyneth’s hand and moved to stand next to Giles.
“He’s been dead for some time, I would guess.” He picked up a twig and gently touched some of the more unpleasant spots.
Gwyneth swallowed again and turned away, holding herself together by a thin string of control.
“See how this has dried?”
“Ah, yes. I see what you mean.” Jeremy’s voice was not as steady as usual. “So he must have been killed possibly last night?”
“I can’t say,” answered Giles. “But I can say he’s been here for at least twelve hours or so. The ground beneath him is dry. We had some rain just around midnight. Thus he was lying here already at that time.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and prayed that whoever he was, he’d found peace. Those thoughts gave her enough strength to turn back. “Can you identify him, Giles?”
Giles stood. “Not from his face, no. For obvious reasons. But…” He walked down the length of the body. “I can say he’s very well dressed. His boots are almost spotless, and I’d swear that jacket has the style of Weston’s latest. It’s either an original, in which case very expensive, or a copy…even so, not cheap.”
“Giles, would you mind removing his right boot?”
She could see Giles’s eyes turn to her in confusion, even before his brows narrowed into a frown. “What?”
“His right boot, please.”
Awkwardly, Giles did so, handling the leg with caution. It was a snug fit, but he finally managed to tug it free. “I have it, my Lady…”
“Look inside the band. See if the maker’s name is there?” She paused. “If the name is Bernetten, then see if you can loosen the heel.”
“Good God.” She heard Giles’s whisper of surprise. “It’s…yes, it’s open. And there is a note inside, along with some coins.”
